


Imagines

by PinkLion7



Category: Original Work
Genre: Original Character(s), Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:21:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21563671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkLion7/pseuds/PinkLion7
Summary: Just some unrelated scenes that struck me as worthy of being written down. Do not expect masterpieces. These scenes and characters are free for anyone to use as long as I am notified and given credit.





	1. Scene 1

Outside, a storm lashed the windowpanes, matching the feeling roiling around within him. Inside, it was cozy and quiet, a perfect reflection of his outward appearance. He stared into the flames in front of him, seeming like he'd almost forgotten the wily little creature sleeping on his arm. He wished he could. Lost to his thoughts, he didn't realize something had changed until he felt something wet and warm drip onto his forearm. Careful to make no sudden movements, he looked down. She's crying in her sleep, he observed. If there was room inside of him, he'd feel sad for her. As it was, he looked on dispassionately.

Why? He wondered, looking down. What could go so horribly wrong in her world to make her shed tears? If her cared for her like he once had, if he'd felt the way he had for her at the beginning, he'd want to take out whatever dared to cause her pain. As it was, he could not help but to reconcile that thing with himself.

He'd given her all, and here she was, crying on his arm. But not for the reasons he'd once wished. She had told him earlier that night, voice heavy with wine and tight with constrained feelings, of her love. Her love had left her, abandoned her for another woman. When she'd told him this, he'd squashed the satisfaction that had rose within him, opting instead to be the good friend. The one she needed. The one she wanted. The one she trusted him to be.

So he'd listened to her, all kind pats and condolences, while she first cursed him, then as the night lengthened, cursed herself. He could do nothing but watch her lips move. Eventually, lulled by the fire and the wine, she curled up beside him and he read aloud to her, just like before. Poe's "Annabelle" was his favorite, but he doubted she remembered. The soft cadence had carried her off to sleep, just like he knew it would. The tears had stopped now, and her breathing was deeper.

She'd held his heart for many years now, but his was not the only one. Simply the most ragged. She'd torn it out of his chest, but she never had to. He would have given it willingly. Had given it willingly, which was the worst part. It meant that he had no one to blame but himself. He looked down at her again. It would be so easy. It would take no effort at all to kiss her soft, pink lips. Or the top of her wheat blonde head. Or to simply hold her. Oh, how he longed to. The longing, it was familiar. He had been dealing with the sting of every missed opportunity for years.

He did none of these things.

He'd overstepped his boundaries once, and was determined to never do so again. He remembered that day well: her face, red and scrunched from hopelessness. Him, hiding behind a wall of apathy. _Your fault, your fault._

He sighed and leaned back. They were friends. They would always be friends. And that's enough, he told himself. She is her own woman, who can make her own choices, albeit not very good ones. He remembered her latest mishap in love, the very reason she was here now. _I love you,_ he thought, wishing that he could say it to her one last time.

Outside, the storm quieted into half-hearted dripping. Mother Nature was mourning without grief.


	2. Scene 2

She sat alone at the bar among the lights and the music. Horribly out of place, in her rumpled clothes and melancholy demeanor. She had come here with friends, it was supposed to be her night, but here she was. The bass rattled in her ears, drowning out the thoughts in her head until they were just one mass of untitled, conflicting emotions.

"Refill?" Asked the bartender, nonplussed. She could barely hear him over the music. She looked up at him, eyes glazed. He'd seen ones like her before and had learned not to ask. She shrugged, so he slid her a glass of water. "Happy birthday," she didn't hear him.

She'd barley gotten a few sips in past the pink paper umbrella when one of her friends came up to her. Tight dress, bleach-blonde hair, too much makeup, wide smile. Perfectly suited to the pulsing neon tableau behind her. The bartender knew her type also.

"C'mon, you need to dance!" She shouted at her friend. "Let's find you someone hot!" She grabbed her hand and pulled.

The bartender watched the woman with the water. Slumped in her seat with eyes full of sadness, she stared at her friend, who tried once more to goad her. "There's lots of cute girls! Or boys! Everyone here is hot!" She screamed, and danced in place.

The other girl heaved a sigh full of things not meant to be said and slid off the stool to hunch near her friend. The flamboyant girl dragged her away, into the writhing mass of sweaty bodies on the dance floor.

But the girl seemed stuck. She only danced near her friend, who was too busy playing matchmaker to notice the stares directed at her. The bartender observed, but he could do nothing.

The lights flashed, the music reached a fever pitch, the the quiet girl stepped closer, finally seeming to muster some courage. Oblivious, her friend danced on, smiling and winking. She got so close, and the bartender nearly averted his eyes, but he had seen worse than some love-struck girl making her move.

Just as the song ended, just as the dancing girl turned to glance, she leaned close, closer, too close-

Then she stepped away, and looked at her shoes.

A new song began. Her friend kept dancing. The bartender watched.

Eventually, the girl's friend found her someone to share the night with. Eventually, her glances became more discreet, less passion-filled. Satisfied, the friend moved on to other, more interesting people. The bartender got the impression that this was a game they had both played before. 


	3. Scene 3

It was a dark and stormy night on the docks. Rain lashed the sea, which beat furiously against the frowning cliff faces. The small sailboat creaked on the heaving ocean, bucking as the small woman tried to board. She was soaked and shivering in her finery, but determined. A scream rent the air from above the cliffs, cutting through the thunder. She looked behind her fearfully, her preparations taking on a frantic pace.

Finally, she lept off the dock. Unseen, a silver circlet had fallen from her golden curls and vanished in the waves. A low rumble, something above the thunder, was a gathering behind her. Thousands of footsteps and war cries rang out as the mob that had been building on the horizon spilled over. They were coming for her, the Queen of Peace.  
It was impossible to tell whether her face was streaked with rain or tears as she left her land behind and took refuge in her sea. Even after all these years, her hands were still rough. She felt respect, but she was not terrified of the impetuous ocean as many others were. They were coming closer and closer. She heard metal clanging. But the sea would protects her, as it always had.

As the boat bobbed away from the dock, she turned back to look. The masses were at the beach edge, but they could do nothing. It would take too long to arrange another boat and a crew to man it, and not on these seas. They roared, angry and terrified. The Queen of Peace was the center of this chaos, but not the cause. There was a misunderstanding, she reminded herself. She had not sent her king away, across the shining seas and golden hills, but she would find him.

Unable to help herself, she looked back one last time. Had it been wrong of her to abandon the sea and perch on the arm of a king she did not need? She didn't think so. She was the Queen of Peace, after all. Not anymore, she realized. She had been deposed, tossed back from the cliffs she had learned to love. But she would fix it. She would find her king, and all would be right in the kingdom once more. Whatever it took.


End file.
